The Burden and Conundrum of Reading Lolita

Vladimir Nabokov’s novel Lolita has been an object of derision and admiration for a long time now. Some have called it “the filthiest book I have ever read” and “sheer unrestrained pornography.” It was even banned in some countries. Some have praised it as one the best novels of the 20th century. Perhaps it is safe to say that the novel at this point has reached a recognition as a true literary work, and not just some collection of smutty words.

I have never read the book, and have always wondered about its nature. What was the fuss about? Is it bad or not? These were some of the questions on my mind.

I should say that I have read about a half of the novel. I was conflicted whether to even write about this since I have not finished reading. Is there even a point, I wondered. And yet, it seems to me that it is precisely this “inability” to finish the novel, which is at the heart of my discussion.

At the risk of sounding obvious, let me just give a brief summary of the book. The novel’s main protagonist and the narrator of the novel is an academic/literary scholar called interestingly Humbert Humbert. Humbert is of European heritage and arrives in the United States, after a divorce, to accept the post at Beardsley College. He rents a room in a house owned by a widowed woman named Charlotte Haze (as he calls her “the Haze woman”), who lives in the house with her teenage daughter, Dolores (Lolita).

From the first page of the book, Humbert is not secretive about his love of little girls, or as he calls them “nymphets.” Adult, mature women are repugnant to him. And he is entirely, with his whole being addicted to “loving” Lolita.

I should say that even not having finished the book, it is not pornographic or smutty. In fact, I would not even call it an erotic novel. Irony is the novel’s primary mover, if you will. At first, I was laughing at little snobby, sarcastic remarks made by Humbert as he experiences an American culture for the first time. He hates the “simple minded-ness” that he perceives in Americans, and this is executed with such verbal flawlessness by Nabokov. You truly forget that his first language was Russian.

While I don’t think that the book is “pornographic trash,” for some odd reason I am having trouble finishing it. I am convinced that it has something to do with Humbert’s narrative style. He is an unreliable narrator, and I have fallen into his trap. I believed him! As I said, at first I laughed and even pitied Humbert. Then I started to like him. When I realized that I liked him, I stopped myself.

Humbert often refers to the readers as a “jury” and asks us not to judge him. And I trusted him. Nabokov is brilliant in creating a character so perverse, so disordered that he (Humbert) sees it as a disorder but cannot do anything to prevent it from happening. Humbert wants to seduce the “jury” the same way he is seducing Lolita. He wants us to believe that we can feel safe with him, and accept his disorder no matter what the consequences.

So, this is where I am at. Half of the book read, the other half patiently waiting to be read. And yet, I feel that I need to cleanse myself from Humbert’s arrogance and plea that love he feels for Lolita is true and authentic. So, I am taking a break from Humbert’s verbose and dramatic musings. My sense of morality (and my senses in general!) seems to be stronger than a recognition of Nabokov’s artistic undertaking. And I think that I am fine with that.